


Revolution

by varooooom



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Begging, Bondage, M/M, Orgasm Denial, PWP, Sex Magic, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-01
Updated: 2013-11-01
Packaged: 2017-12-31 04:40:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1027326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/varooooom/pseuds/varooooom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin takes what he wants and gives what Arthur needs to make good on an old promise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Revolution

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sick and haven't slept so porn is the obvious solution. Pardon any awkward phone typos as per usual and, uh. Forgive me?
> 
> Yeah. _Yeah_.

Arthur looks good like this, Merlin thinks as he folds his arms across his chest. There's an aching desire for him, for this beautiful man stretched out before him, pressing against the laces of his trousers, but Merlin doesn't shift from where he stands at the foot of Arthur's bed. His arousal can wait; this is far more important than rubbing one off.

Because Arthur looks _good_ like this. His body is all hardened muscle, thickened from years of training for combat to protect ( always to protect, because Arthur loves first and falls last ) and it strains now, golden sun-kissed skin sleek with the sheen of sweat earned by his struggling. His calves stand in stark definition, feet arched and toes digging into the mattress - legs held wide, _wide_ apart, almost spread further than Arthur can bear, obvious in the tension of his thighs and the shaking of his knees. Thick veins run across his tightly coiled biceps and forearms, tugging against the golden threads of nothing that hold his wrists at a corner each above his head. His back arches, strong chest raised high in the air; his hips roll down against more empty space, desperately searching; his head -

\- gods, but Arthur's face in ecstasy is gorgeous. Eyes clenched tightly shut, long lashes sodden brown with unshod tears, golden hair splayed across his red pillows where it isn't matted dark brown to his temples with sweat, perfectly rounded, bitten red lips parted in an eternal _oh_. And _oh_ spills from those filthy lips, those beautiful, sinful lips that Merlin spends so much time staring at, yearning, aching. Waiting.

Waiting for now. Waiting for this.

Arthur cries out, sharp and wounded, " _Merlin,_ " and Merlin only shifts from one foot to the next, tilts his head curiously. His eyes burn with molten gold, the same gold nothing-turned- _everything_ that holds Arthur down, spreads him wide open.

Wide, _wide_ \- Merlin can see Arthur's little hole, a dusty pink, stretched around his nothing, his emptiness and his everything. Merlin pours all of his devotion and desire into Arthur and it digs in deep, buries itself inside him where Merlin wants to spend the rest of his days, inside Arthur's body and inside Arthur's heart. He wants to be everything Arthur feels until he feels nothing else, until Merlin's name spills from the Prince's lips and holds him down, down just for Merlin.

He's so beautiful, and Merlin's magic lets him know. It _writhes_ inside him, moves in and out in a mockery of where Merlin _should_ be, and Arthur responds with perfect gasps and moans and cries that fill the heavy air of silence between them. His magic fucks Arthur the way Merlin wants to, aches to, fucks him hard and relentlessly, tirelessly. He can't remember how long he's held Arthur down like this, how many times Arthur has cried out for a release he can't reach with those golden tendrils of magic tied around the root of his cock, the base of his balls; they lick at him too, lapping at the precome that slides down his swollen shaft, circling the crown and plunging into the little slit at the tip just to get another taste of Arthur's essence. Arthur cries and begs to come, and each time, Merlin's magic tightens its hold and washes over him in a stifling warmth, the heavy weight of Merlin's affections.

Merlin smiles. This is his. This magic is his, and it belongs to Arthur; _Arthur_ is his.

And the Prince knows it. Learns it over and over with every twist and arch of Merlin's magic deep inside him. He gasps and presses back down, impales himself on empty space and a want, a need, a ' _please, Merlin_ , now' that isn't there. He tries so very hard to stay composed. Tried. He wouldn't let Merlin hear him when they started, bit his tongue against moans and rasps as all semblance of control was stripped from him, bared as naked as the day he was born. Arthur prides himself on careful discipline and absolute restraint, on holding himself with all the pride and grace he has learnt over his years.

There is nothing dignified in this. It is carnal, base, nature at its core essence. Merlin is a child of the earth and Arthur is a child from the earth; they were born from the same pure well of _everything_ -turned-nothing.

This isn't dignified but it's _beautiful_ and Arthur looks so lovely embraced in gold, in the Pendragon gold and Merlin's gold because they're one in the same, two halves of one whole. Merlin loves Arthur so much and Arthur shakes against his sheets.

"Merlin, no more," he rasps, voice shredded and weak. The phrase spills over and over, ' _no_ ' and ' _more_ ' and ' _oh_ gods.' Merlin bites his lip against the urge to reach out, to touch, to give in to desire.

"You want more?" he teases. Arthur shudders and a whimper escapes him, unwillingly. Gods. Beautiful. "I can give you more. Sire."

Arthur groans again at the impudent use of his title, tugs against the restraints on his arms and whimpers again when they don't give an inch. His head shakes, given up on speech, and Merlin doesn't like that, doesn't like that at all. He wants to hear Arthur _cry_ , wants to see him fall apart at the seams, torn asunder by everything that Merlin gives him. Everything and nothing.

His magic swells, growing inside Arthur, and the Prince's eyes flash open in surprise. Blue-gone-black stares wide at his canopy, a glassy fog over his eyes from heat and arousal and denial and shame and everything else Merlin wants to carve out of him to fill those empty spaces with love, only love. His mouth moves wordlessly as Merlin's magic thrusts in deeper, harder, bigger. His breath comes in short little pants, gasps and chokes that never fully form before the next thrust comes. Merlin lets his magic envelop Arthur's cock in a wet heat, so similar to a mouth that spits insult and laughs too loudly and speaks of nothing but a future shared and a bright hope, all of the things Merlin gives Arthur every day, in every breath. Heat spreads over him and Arthur cries out again, eyes sliding back shut as the first tears spill down his temples into his golden hair.

" _No_ , Merlin, fuck. It's too much, it's too - _ah_ , please."

"Do you yield, my Lord?" Merlin asks, his calm tone belying the raging river beneath his skin, the way his fingers dig into his arms to fight the urge, the need, the want. He walks to Arthur's side, crouches down to prop his head on his arms beside Arthur, head tilted to the side to watch his Prince fight against resignation. Arthur shakes and trembles and his face is wet, sweat and tears and Merlin wants to bathe him after this, maybe, wash him down with a smooth cloth and gentle touches in all the places his magic spelt out his devotion in burning caresses. Merlin swallows. "Arthur. Do you yield?"

It comes immediately, pent up frustration spilling forth unabashed, desperate, _desperate_. "Yes," he whispers, secret and then louder again when the speed drives him further. " _Yes_ , Merlin, yes, fuck fuck. I'm going to come, please, yes, I need -"

And Merlin gives, gives in and darts forward to cover Arthur's lips with his own just as his magic releases Arthur's cock and lets him spill all over his belly and chest at long last. He kisses Arthur through it, and Arthur sobs into it, too weak to arch up into it the way he would, the way he does. He kisses Merlin back with a passive yearning, a hidden desire the way he always looks away first when their eyes meet in Court, the way their fingers brush and Arthur sends Merlin away. Because he doesn't have the strength to sit up and kiss Merlin back properly, because this is everything and nothing and Merlin goes to the ends of it all for him instead.

They kiss until Arthur stops trembling, and Merlin's magic recedes slowly to ease him back down into reality. When Merlin feels cold fingertips at his cheek, he stops and leans into the touch, opens his eyes to find Arthur staring right back at him. Pools of blue reflecting each other, giving and taking and Merlin smirks.

"I told you I could take you apart with less than one blow."


End file.
